


Stories of the Past

by fairyScorpicus



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crimes & Criminals, Dead Edward Nygma, Dead People, Ed is dead, Ed still worships Jim Gordon, Mentioned Jim Gordon, Oswald is the King of the Gotham underworld, Socially Awkward Edward Nygma, ah yes people are still being murdered, come back later when i decide when and how Ed died, ghost au, ghost!Edward, i dont know how to tag this im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2020-12-28 00:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21127631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyScorpicus/pseuds/fairyScorpicus
Summary: "Do you believe in ghosts, Oswald? This house has several of them. But don't worry, they're all quite friendly. Oh, there's ghosts, all right. This house was built by my grandfather. He died here. His wife and two sisters also passed away upstairs. And my poor dear parents. Yes, many ghosts."------------------------------------------------------------------"That's a terrible way to dispose of a body," came a sulky voice. Oswald spun around. To his shock, he saw a translucent tall man with square glasses glowering down at the body of the man Oswald had killed."W-What?" Oswald gasped. His father's words came back to his mind."That's a terrible way to dispose of a body," the ghost-like man repeated. "I should know. I was a forensics scientist for the GCPD." He held out his see-through hand. "Edward. Nygma."





	1. Chapter 1

"Do you believe in ghosts, Oswald?"

**"**Yes, I do. I've seen them."

**"**This house has several of them. But don't worry, they're all quite friendly."

"Don't listen to him. There are no ghosts here."

**"**Oh, there's ghosts, all right. This house was built by my grandfather. He died here. His wife and two sisters also passed away upstairs. And my poor dear parents. Yes, many ghosts."  
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His father's words echoed in his mind as Oswald Cobblepot looked at the family mansion. Behind him, he was aware of Zsasz.

"You're setting up base here?" the hit man said, eyebrow raised. Then he shrugged. "Fancy. I like it." He walked past Oswald inside. Oswald growled to himself and followed.

"You do not get to stay here," he said grumpily. Zsasz started to whine, but Oswald held up a hand. "Absolutely not."

Zsasz sighed, his voice neutral again. "Should I inform the boys?"

"In time," said Oswald. He looked inside the house, still finding it strange that his father wasn't roaming the halls. 

Later that night, Oswald woke to the sound of the downstairs window breaking. He cursed, moving out of the bed surprisingly quickly, his knee protesting. He grabbed his cane and a gun laying by his bed. Earlier, he had thought of moving it. Now, he was pleased he hadn't.

He wobbled down the stairs to find a man in black at the bottom of the stairs, gun in their hand. The man spun around, pointing the gun at Oswald when Oswald took another step down. The masked man went to shoot Oswald, but a horrible creaking sound came from above, and both men looked up. Standing in the stairway, the real ceiling was much higher, showing the full three stories of the mansion. The floor for the attic, a place Oswald had never been to, was the real ceiling above their heads. The ceiling, Oswald noticed with a moment of terror, looked very old and worn down. As he watched, the floor to the attic broke, and several old dusty boxes, some moldy floorboards, and a wooden chair fell. Oswald flinched away, but it didn't matter. The falling objects all landed directly onto the masked man's head. The man had not moved, shocked at seeing the strange coincidence happen. He collapsed to the ground, head bleeding where the chair hit him. Thinking quickly, Oswald shot him. He could take care of the attic later. The man was dead.

Oswald looked around, still not thinking clearly. He wondered what to do to dispose the body.

"Perhaps I can bury it in the garden," he murmured.

"That's a terrible way to dispose of a body," came a sulky voice. Oswald spun around. To his shock, he saw a translucent tall man with square glasses glowering down at the body of the man Oswald had killed.

"W-What?" Oswald gasped. His father's words came back to his mind.

"That's a terrible way to dispose of a body," the ghost-like man repeated. "I should know. I was a forensics scientist for the GCPD." He held out his see-through hand formally. "Edward. Nygma."

Oswald stared in shock, unsure of what to do or say.

"H-How?" he spluttered uselessly. The ghost looked unimpressed.

"I'm a ghost. Duh." Edward rolled his eyes and straightened his shirt. He was wearing a green vest. "I apologize about the ceiling, but I've been trapped up there for a while and I wanted to help."

"You broke the ceiling?" Oswald said in dismay. Edward grimaced.

"All my things were moved up there. The room was locked. I wanted to help. My apologies. Call me Ed." Oswald looked at the moldy dusty boxes.   
"Are these your things?" He asked finally. Ed nodded enthusiastically before his face darkened. 

"I prefer that you do not go through them," Ed said, and then he looked critically down at the dead man.

"Now, if you were to put him in the bathtub and pour acid into it, it would take care of everything except his bones. Disposing of just the bones is easier. I would know." Ed puffed his chest out a little. "I disposed of my girlfriend like that." He pushed his glasses up his nose. The frames, Oswald noticed absently, were thin twisted green metal wires. They looked very old-fashioned. He wondered how long Ed had been dead, or in the attic.

"Your girlfriend?" Oswald asked. Ed's eyes darkened more and he mumbled something. "What?" Oswald asked. Ed waved a hand, his face suddenly cheery.

"Don't worry about it!" Ed said, smiling. He began to drift across the house.

"Where are you going?" Oswald asked, following him.

"To the acid stored under the kitchen cabinet unless those horrible people who tried to live here before you removed it." Edward said. He waved a hand through the cabinet, uselessly. He groaned. "I can only move things when I focus a lot or I don't at all," he complained to Oswald. "And it tires me a lot. You open it." He stepped to the side.

Oswald wondered if he could walk through a ghost, but decided to be thankful Edward had moved for him. He opened the cabinet and saw an old jug. Edward hummed in delight. "Perfect!" He scooped up the jug and held it for a second before it slipped through his hand. Oswald rushed to catch it, breathing a sigh of relief when he did. He didn't want to know if the cap had been screwed back properly.

"Oh dear," Edward said, pushing his glasses up his face even though they hadn't slipped down.

_Nervous habit?_ Oswald wondered.

"It's alright," Oswald said out loud, awkwardly. Ed shifted his feet, frowning suddenly.

"Of course it's alright." he muttered, face dark before it cleared up like a switch. Oswald resisted the urge to step back. He had dealt with crazier things before. Besides, Edward was dead. He couldn't hurt Oswald, right?

"Now to dispose of the body." Edward said, as he floated up the stairs. "I think the bathroom is the second door to the right," he murmured as Oswald struggled to get the dead man up the stairs. His leg hurt. As they approached the bathroom, Edward became less visible.

"Edward?" he asked. Ed grimaced.

"I'm too far away from my things," he complained. He began to fade more. "Oh dear," Oswald couldn't see him anymore. "Goodbye for now, Mr. Cobblepot."  
"How did you know my last name?" Oswald demanded, but Edward was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

After Edward didn't appear for another two days, Oswald began to continue life as normal, almost brushing off Edward as some sort of strange dream. but the boxes were still there. After a day of wondering what to do, he decided to place a box on every level of the house so next time Edward would not fade away.

It would still be another three days before, in the middle of dinner, Edward would appear.

"I'm glad I don't have to eat anymore," Ed said dryly. "That looks disgusting."

Oswald chocked on his stew. "Edward!" he coughed. "Warn me next time!" Ed sent him a dirty look.

"I just appeared, Mr. Cobblepot." Oswald frowned.

"You never answered me last night. How do you know my last name? I never told you." Oswald demanded. Ed waved a hand dismissively.

"You look like Theodore Kapelput," he said, snorting. "A little shorter and a little pointier nose, but than jaw line and those eyes!" He gestured randomly at Oswald's confused yet stunned face.

"Who is Theodore Kapelput?" Oswald asked, and Ed's eyes widened. 

"Do you know anything about your family?" he asked, and Oswald shook his head. Ed straightened himself up.

"Theodore Kapelput was the one who changed his last name to Cobblepot, to make seem more American even though his ancestors already fought in the Civil war and the American Independence. He was a mayor in Gotham." Ed recited. "Quite a stern man."

"Did you know him?" Oswald asked, mind starting to spin.

"This was his house." Ed said, frowning. "He would throw such formal parties here, and anyone with considerable influence over the city would come! How else would I have ended up here if he didn't invite me?"

"When was this?" Oswald gaped at the taller man.

"I don't know," Ed said crossly. "A while, I suppose. He hid all my things in the attic. He wanted to burn them, but his wife convinced him not to. Something about respecting the dead, I suppose."

Later, Oswald found himself at the Gotham public library searching up his family records.

Edward was waiting for him when he got home.

"You left me," he complained. "There's nothing to do in this house on the bottom floor."

"What do you mean?" Oswald asked. "Bottom floor? I moved boxes of your stuff onto each level." Edward looked at him in shock. 

"You did that? For me?" Edward asked, suddenly looking away and clearing his throat. "That's nice of you."

"Well, I thought since you were going to hang around, we might as well be friendly to each other." Oswald said. Edward looked at him.

"Friends?" he said, hopefully.

"Yeah," Oswald confirmed, before changing topics. "So you're from the 1880's." Ed nodded. "Do you know what year it is now?"

"No," Ed shook his head.

"It's the year 20xx." Ed's eyes widened at Oswald's words.

"I've been dead for about 140 years?" Ed croaked. Oswald shrugged. 

"I guess. Sorry for the big shock, Ed." Ed waved a hand, accepting Oswald's apology.


	3. Chapter 3

It gets. Easier. To see this transparent, lanky man wander the empty house. Oswald learns to hide the flinches when a voice suddenly pipes up from right behind him.

But a new house doesn't mean a new life.

"There's a meeting tonight," he informs Ed over lunch. He has no clue why the ghost decided to accompany him to mealtimes other than loneliness. Oswald guesses that spending so many years by his lonesome would cause an aversion to being alone. He still doesn't understand why Ed seems inclined to sit down on the right of the head of the table, in partial deference to Oswald but also sitting in a seat that suggests he is Oswald's right-hand man. Then again, he may be over-reading things. It's the closest seat to the head of the table where Oswald is eating Olga's home-cooked meal for him, after all.

"I would prefer if a ghost was not there to greet a handful of gun-happy criminals," Oswald continues, and Ed seems to wilt at his words.

"Come on," he whines. "I don't look like a ghost, can't I come along?" His eyes seem to light up at the prospect. "I'd get to observe how you rule the underworld!" He wiggles in his seat and Oswald doesn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. "Organized crime, why didn't the police department ever think of that?" Ed rubs his hands together gleefully. "It was always 'mob this, Falcone family that,-'"

"Hold on," Oswald interrupts. "Falcone family?" He's heard the stories, of course, of the long line of the Falcone's running the streets until Fish Mooney took over, and then Oswald, in turn, took over from her. Well, took over more violently than the words suggest.

"Yeah, the Falcone family, you know, Don Falcone? Has the police in this pocket?" Ed tilted his head to the side in question as he patted his breast pocket. Oswald blinked, eyes wide.

"How do I keep forgetting how _old_ you are?" he asks in dismay, and Ed immediately grows offended.

"Hey!"

"Sorry," Oswald apologizes. "it's just that there's this cop, Jim Gordon, who's more-or-less taken over the GCPD and he's the literal opposite of a dirty cop." Ed's eyes light up in awe, and Oswald finds himself inexplicably annoyed.

"He's not a dirty cop?" Ed repeats, and Oswald shakes his head.

"Worse," he groused. "He won't make friends with criminals, he's pretty much in charge of the GCPD and he won't let other cops take bribes." He could tell with one glance that his attempt at putting Jim down wasn't working. Ed's eyes were practically shining. Hero worship for someone he had never met? Oswald fought back an irrational scowl.

"Wow," Ed whispers, vibrating with excitement. "I wish someone like that was alive when I..." Ed trailed off, and his face darkened. For the first time, Oswald finds himself wondering how Ed died.

Oswald had been trying to be respectful by not searching for it, but now, his curiosity piqued, he found himself thinking of the old archives in the Gotham library.

A knock on the door derailed his train of thought.

"Time to disappear," he waved his hands hurriedly at the ghost.

Ed gave him a disappointed look, much like a kicked puppy, and disapparated. Oswald allowed himself a moment to breathe before he sent Olga to open the door.

Zsasz stepped into the room confidently.

"You've got a bit of a breeze in the house, Pengy," he greeted cheerfully. "Got a roof tile missing? A window open?" Oswald blinked, irrational terror threatening to take over his mind. His mind leaped to Ed.

_They couldn't find out about Ed_, he told himself.

"I hadn't even noticed," he replied smoothly. "I'll ask Olga to check that all the windows are closed." 

As the criminals filed into the meeting room, Oswald scanned the living room briefly. He couldn't see anything, but...

_You better stay out of the meeting,_ he thought at Ed, and then wondered if Ed could read minds.

Probably not.

Oswald shuts the door to the meeting room firmly and takes his seat at the head of the table.

Ghost problems later. he has work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty clear by now that out of my WIPs, this one takes the back burner. But I love ghost AUs and I just rewatched, like, ALL the episodes of Gotham, it was a nightmare, so it's given me some inspiration to update at least this once


	4. Chapter 4

As Oswald settles into the house, he finds himself more and more involved in his 'work', and it isn't until a week after the meeting in the middle of dinner, enjoying a nice stew that Olga made, does he realize that Ed hasn't been seen again.

"Ed?" he calls out into the empty room, feeling foolish.

Olga pops her head out of the kitchen and asks something in Russian, questioning.

"I wasn't talking to you," he says, feeling foolish the second the words come out of his mouth. Great. Now Olga will think he's talking to himself. But instead, Olga nods knowingly.

"Pale skinny man sulk," she says, and Oswald swears his heart stopped working.

"Excuse me?" he says, mind whirling, but Olga continues anyways.

"He hides in library," She informs Oswald and ducks back inside the kitchen to clean up. He sits there dumbly for a moment.

Olga knows about Ed. 

Well. At least she doesn't think he's talking to himself.

He finds himself wandering into the library.

He doesn't think he's been in there at all, except for maybe when he first entered the mansion and his father was showing him around. It's covered wall to wall in books, and Ed is indeed found around the corner of a shelf, engrossed in a book. As Oswald watches, the ghost idly turns the page.

"Ed." he greets awkwardly, and Ed looks up suddenly, surprise written all over his face.

"Oswald!" he yelps back, a smile starting to appear on his face before remembering that he is sulking. He pushes his glasses up his nose futilely and looks back down at the book to hide his face.

"I mean, hello Oswald."

Oswald sighs and goes straight for the kill. Might as well get this over with.

"You do understand why you can't attend my meetings, right? I don't know if you can turn invisible, but I don't want them to know that my house is haunted." Ed sighs.

"I know, but who could I go tell? And you could just say that I'm, I'm," Ed grapples for words, floundering and flapping his hands, and Oswald dryly fills in.

"My advisor?" Ed brightens up, back straightening, and Oswald finds himself momentarily distracted by the fact that Ed was taller than he remembered. Then his mind catches up and he snorts automatically.

"Yes!" Oswald says sarcastically, and Ed shrinks back like a wounded puppy, and Oswald finds himself rushing to explain.

"I don't have any advisors, and you'd destroy any illusions of being experienced with the criminal underworld the moment you opened your mouth." Ed's face rapidly sours and Oswald realizes he said the wrong thing. "I mean... Look. You're just not experienced."

"Then help me!" Ed argues, and Oswald looks at the ceiling silently for help. None comes, so he sighs.

"Fine." God help me, he thinks as Ed grins instantly.

Ed leaps forward to shake Oswald's hand enthusiastically. 

"No take backs!" He laughs, and Oswald can't help but notice the way that his eyes shine and how Ed's smile makes him look much more relaxed and less awkward. He smiles back despite himself.

"Alright, alright,' he sighs dramatically, and slide into a nearby chair. "So, obviously, the three main things about running a criminal organization is loyalty, territory, and money..."


End file.
